


godwins

by josephspit



Category: Original Work
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Blood and Violence, Concerts, Confusion, Depression, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/F, F/M, Hallucinations, Hearing Voices, Hospitalization, Mental Breakdown, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, New Year's Eve, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Original Character(s), Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Panic Attacks, Past Drug Use, Psychosis, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Tags May Change, Tardive Dyskinesia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-25
Updated: 2020-07-21
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:01:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23836537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/josephspit/pseuds/josephspit
Summary: Steph is a mentally ill young adult, attempting to make sense of people and reality through the haze of bad choices and a regular, intense disassociation.
Kudos: 3





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this is the first thing I've written in years, I hope it isnt too annoying to read. I dont remember how to write fanfiction, so an original work should suffice to get me limber. Ive written a few chapters of this but ill only keep working on it if anyone actually ends up enjoying it

I remember the night that the seemingly worst depression I had ever experienced finally settled into the complete, certain suicidal urgency that resulted in the attempt. I remember when I consciously looked up for a moment in my survival and noticed how deep in the ground I already was and how serious it had become. The memory is gray and blue, almost tunneled in a fish eye, distant. Disassociated. Everything about being alive, about the minutes in every day and the thoughts and feelings throughout it; they were all just one thing, one feeling. One thought, one overall state of existing, and one outcome. Every single variable of life, the past, present and future all added up to the same thing, and always would. I was not living. I was forcing my arms and legs to do the things that kept me employed. I avoided people. The interactions I couldn't avoid, I mimicked their faces and actions back towards them in an occasionally unsettling, robotic way. If someone missed me, I missed them more. If someone was worried about me, I was more worried about them. I stole their emotions and doubled them, and hoped that would make them mine. Practicing your emotions in this state is much like trying to sketch a still life drawing in a vast, dark room. Knowing how to smile to appear genuine, how to control anger in your face and laugh without appearing monstrous when you are alone, with no subject to draw inspiration from or even reference was nearly impossible. The connection in my brain that connected my physical body and my emotions was severed, perhaps by the distant shadow of paranoia and psychosis that once plagued me. Calling myself recovered, I consciously chose not to consider that. But there was something left, one emotion and one aspiration, which was the inevitable. When would I do it?  
A beautiful woman occasionally met up with me during these months. She attended small events and the like I invited her to as an excuse to get out of the house, away from shitty roommates or the dullness that is the every day, lonely adult life. Our past consisted of dating for a year until separating in the summer, and when she asked to still spend time together so that we wouldn't have to suffer a close companion simply vanishing from our lives, I saw no reason to object. She was (what my medical team would call later) my main support system. I could tell her nearly anything, and she was the only person in my life that was aware of the self aimed violent thoughts that plagued me.  
Squinting down at the brightness of my phone, I began to drunkenly type her a message, questioning her distance from the venue I stood in. The metal bell above the door rang quietly through the loud banter of bar patrons and I turned to see Jess entering the smoky, dark building from the light drizzle outside. She pulled a hood down from her dark, curly brunette hair and started speaking to the bouncer. I realized her hair was probably well past her shoulders now but I had never seen it that way. Only when it was wet as she exited the shower in comfortable early mornings; even then the curls were only calmed. The length was always told higher by the curls, resting softly at the base of her neck. I remembered the first time I had seen her, a glowing star surrounded by her strangely average friends. The aura around her was always just… important. Different, glowing. I knew I had felt a lot about experiencing her, but now I watched her with only a lowering anxiety and rising comfort. A companion in a mindless crowd, both of us unknowing she was coming to my rescue.  
Her dark brown eyes searched the room while the bouncer attached the paper bracelet and I made my way towards her, avoiding the careless movement of elbows and gesturing hands that put the glass in my unsteady grip at risk. She closed the distance between us, looking at me with a thousand unspoken words behind her eyes. "Jess." I declared up to her, as if I was proving my knowledge and intimacy with her so that she could feel comfortable too. The syllable was nearly drowned out by the first band beginning their sound check on the floor, only twenty or so feet away. She grimaced at the decibel, and then looked a couple inches down to my shorter frame again. "Hi. I see you're already drunk." I glanced down at my mostly empty glass and provided a quick, half assed shrug. I wasn't sure if she knew about my evolving alcoholism, as every time we saw each other I had been in the act. If she didn't know of the acquired habit surely she was aware of the many reasons I drank to begin with. My abuse of alcohol stood for what it was, but in terms of past drug abuse, I had been sober for two months. Forcing myself to look up at her, I acknowledged that if I were someone intending to better themself, this was the only thing I had going for me (even if no one knew about it.) In the swirling darkness surrounding her face, I brought my attention to the center, to her eyes. She looked worried, solemn. Beautiful. She nodded at my expression, whatever it could’ve been and scanned the room before walking away. I turned and followed her to a couch near the bar, not entirely in the middle of the floor but out of the way enough for patron traffic and thrashers. As she sat down next to another woman she seemed to recognize, I stood awkwardly nearby, distracted by the sounds in the room and the set up of the band. I tilted the glass up and swallowed the remnants of the drink, before gesturing to where I estimated the bar was behind me. "Do you want a drink?" I asked. She shook her head at me, her eyes far away. Something felt very wrong, but I knew even if I was sober I couldn't place a name to the emotion.  
For a moment I considered just leaving, going out into the rain, chasing the drink and losing myself in the foreign neighborhood. I did not want to wake up drenched in rain and hungover on the asphalt at four in the morning; something I didn’t care to admit had happened a few times over the last few months. As I mindlessly returned to the bar, I held up one finger to the bartender and he began to make me another drink, the same as before. The willpower, work ethic and memory of bartenders simply astounded me at times. As my mind drifted, I imagined myself leaving the building once I was much more inebriated and instinctually acting on the burning need I had grown used to running through my veins, through my entire body. This violent urge. What are you going to do? The frustration of not immediately choosing death edged this involuntary imagining of my being further and I could feel the rage. It was pathetic. I was stumbling through the street and carelessly across the highway; the neighborhood around me was completely foreign. I caught myself falling against a store window and I was beating it with my fists, kicking it in and screaming in unsatisfied frustration before the cops would be called and I was rushing them, attacking them. Praying for a chest full of bullets, a unending electric seizure, burning, pulsating eyes. Please.  
Someone pressing up against me in an attempt to reach the bar brought my focus back into my body and to the drink in front of me, though I could not yet see it. As my vision hazily refocused I gently picked it up from the counter with one hand as I dug in the front pocket of my jeans with the other, dropping a folded up dollar into the tip jar. I wandered back to the sitting area Jess was at, approaching from behind. Her head was turned slightly to the young woman beside her in what seemed to be heavy conversation. I couldn’t tell you what the woman looked like as I naturally kept my eyes down almost always (unless it involved Jess) but I remembered the woman’s fishnet wrapped legs failing to cover many home made stick and poke tattoos. I came around the left of them and heard their words die down. I brought my eyes up to watch the band, as though I were interested again and hadn't noticed their quelled conversation in my presence. I felt Jess's eyes on me. One of the musicians on the floor briefly told us who they were before loud, unforgiving punk music filled the room and drowned out all conversation. I finally looked over to them and gestured through hand motions that I was going to move closer. Without waiting for a response or acknowledgement I wandered closer to the blaring sound of a local punk band set loose upon a fundraised venue. The past me would have smiled at this. This version of me did not.  
I swayed and nodded my head to the music, downing my entire drink and getting clapped on the back by some drunk, hyperactive man standing near me. I considered decking him for a brief moment before the next song began, distracting my animalistic brain. After a few more drinks and my continued stumbling and swaying in the excited crowd awaiting another song, I turned my head to the distant sound of the bell above the door ringing quietly. Jess pushed the door open, seeming to rush out and I ran to meet her. Catching the first door, we paused in the entry way as she held the exit door open, looking back at me. We stood silently for just a moment in the small separated space with the loud, drunken room behind me and the vast, unknowing darkness of the parking lot behind her. "Hey, Jess. You headed out?" She faltered for a moment, uncomfortable. "Uh, yeah. Do you need a ride?" I shook my head, struggling to see her face through my intoxication. Always attempting to rescue me. "No, no. You don't have to do that." She asked again, and I told her no again and thanked her for coming. She nodded and said her farewells, turning from me. As I watched her form disappear into the darkness, the door fell shut, the sound of the rain vanished and I found myself looking into the reflection in the glass. A growing sickness settled in my stomach as I examined the unwashed hair sticking in many directions, the blank, empty expression and the bloodshot eyes beginning to glare into mine. They looked at me as though they knew something that I didn't, that I would soon come to learn. A growing, smug grimace. "Fuck you." I spit, before suddenly kicking the base of the door and shouting. I chuckled as I tried to balance myself, but I staggered and my back hit the wooden board on the wall, crumpling band flyers and event information beneath my unhealthy frame.  
With difficulty I pulled the door open as the band addressed the crowd, offering a short explanation before beginning their last song. This song was dedicated to a man the band knew whom had commit suicide, and they missed dearly. Missed dearly, I thought poisonously. My spiraling thoughts brought images of my departed friends, those who had chosen to leave and those who had no choice in the matter. My high school friend, Ben. I was thinking about what I had attended this damned thing to avoid in the first place. Death. Suicide. The urges and questions filled every corner of my mind and I asked myself the question I never stopped asking. Quietly, most possibly out loud. Please. I thought of Ben and his fluffy, overgrown hair, smiling and throwing up some devil horns from down the street when I approached. I thought of the way I felt these days, how out of control and unforgiving it was. Was it a choice for him? Would it be a choice for me? How could I make it seem like.. a choice, my choice? How did he? I felt tears sting in my eyes and, shaking, I lifted my hand to touch my face, blindly guessing where my eyes were. Drunk or not, I hadn't been able to cry in well over a year.  
Is this what it takes to feel something? Watching the people you love die, and find yourself close behind them, beneath their impossibly heavy shadow and involuntarily sewn to their footsteps? Subconsciously I pulled my phone from my pocket to see if Jess had texted me that she had returned home safely. She hadn't. Assuming she forgot or didn’t feel like speaking to me, I moved to check her social medias to see if she was active or posted anything. She hadn't. In fact, none of her social media existed anymore. A familiar twinge of paranoid panic began to grow in me, and I texted her phone number a few times. I received no response. It wasn't until the next day when I was sober again that I would realize Jess had healthily cut me from her life, entirely. With no way to contact her, I understood she did not want to see me. I understood why.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this chapter gets fucked up fast, just a heads up. involving the alcoholism and attempted non-con

Within two weeks, I was losing control. While the possible conversations that could stabilize an erratic mind never occurred, just knowing Jess was in my life and was aware of what had caused my descent.. I hadn't realized it, but she was the only variable keeping me together. She was the only person who remembered how well put together I was, just before the collapse. I did not want to be remembered the way I was now. In those two short weeks when brief moments of consciousness visited me, I found myself always gripping a nearly empty bottle. This riddled me with anxiety; an anxiety of having to rely on an ending ability to remain unconscious. Moments of wakefulness slapped me in the face as I heavily leaned over in my bathroom, vomiting violently enough to stir my conscious mind into running the same laps repeatedly, each time as though it were the first. What was I doing, why was I doing it, and it was inevitable.  
My conscious mind existed as short bursts of sensation, confusion, and despair. There was nothing to hold me back, nothing expected of me. No one to present myself to or fear worrying. To regret not treating better. In the later times of night, practically early mornings, I gripped my arms and legs tightly and aggressively, biting my tongue to numbness and shaking in waves of mental attack. I would not turn to drugs to escape this. I understood my mind was naturally broken and the allure of losing what consciousness of reality I had left without having to incessantly drink was, entirely too tempting. No. When I finally did it, I wanted to be awake. Sober of everything. I needed to know exactly what I was doing. I wanted to be aware, and I needed it to hurt. I wanted to scream unwillingly, I wanted to be terrified. I wanted to die afraid, as though I were shocked it was happening. I would never give them the pleasure of my terror anyway.  
I believe this is the only thing that kept me going for the next few days, until it was the final day of December. My boss discontemptly booted me home early. Perhaps during the last week he could smell my sin and had grown sick of me. While leaving I thought absently about the idea of new years occurring within the hour, and before I realized it I found myself arriving at a popular bar within a few blocks of where I lived. As I climbed the steps and wandered into the dark room, the crowd within was chanting. Ah, a countdown. I drifted through the excited, shouting people around me before stopping for a moment, studying them. They all erupted in a scream, throwing up their hands or applauding. Music began blasting as couples embraced each other, lips touching and friends pulled each other close, arms outstretched with phones at the end. I watched in a daze as balloons, confetti and tiny plastic stars fell from a net in the ceiling, covering the ground, me and the people around me. A million stars... My eyes studied their jaws working their smiles, their red blushing cheeks and bright eyes. I accidentally caught the gaze of a man with a small group of his friends, the other two of them laughing obnoxiously, far too intoxicated.  
Why was I drinking in public, I wondered as I turned to my right and tiredly approached the bar, still in my work uniform, catching the curious gaze of the woman tending it. I pointed to a random bottled beer and she grabbed it, pouring it in a glass cup. Literally what is the point, I thought, as someone suddenly beside me shouted down at me. "Hey!" I turned and slightly lifted my eyes. White collar, red shirt. It was, of course, the man with the overly drunk friends. "Hi." I attempted to speak loudly. My voice didn't carry well to begin with, but this meaningless greeting exercised my throat in a way that reminded me I hadn't spoken at all in a week or so, at least. As I payed for my drink, he sloppily ordered three more of whatever he and his friends were drinking. I stayed leaning on the bar, sipping the beer. Christ, I hadn't consumed beer in a long time. Not since warm, summer evenings spent bar hopping through downtown Greenville. Memories flooded my mind of long, comfortable days spent exploring the local greenhouse and forests, wandering time-capsuled antique stores and ending with sampling cold, pale ales from different draft shops until we were stumbling home, laughing, falling into bed...  
When the visions faded and my sight returned I let my finger run around the glass cups edge, wishing it would cut straight through me and remove my fingers, not allowing me to pick up a drink ever again. I nodded appreciatively at this thought, tilting the glass up and opened my throat, downing as much of it as i could in a few methodical gulps. Shaking my head, I involuntarily shivered. Fuck beer. Red shirt beside me laughed and spoke. "Damn! Who drinks beer though, am I right? Takes too long to get drunk. Can I buy you another drink?" Staring down at the counter, I gripped my nearly empty glass as the regret for letting myself wander here flooded me. "No." I deadpanned, and pushing my weight off of the counter I walked into the dancing crowd, nearly stumbling. I knew I wasn't drunk yet but I was still so off center of my body's natural balance; I felt as though I were walking off the corners of the earth and I would fall at any moment.  
A small circle of three dancing girls laughed visibly and pushed each other as I approached, and one of them reached out gingerly and grabbed my wrist. I looked over at her and she continued to sway and dance, black dress. Sleeveless. Wanting to be free, I forced my eyes upward to her red hair, covered in a bunch of the silver and gold plastic stars that had snowed upon us in the early year. Images invaded my sight as I experienced visions of Jess doodling them into a sketchbook as we sat in the sun, greens and yellows and greys surrounding us on a picnic. I watched her doodle the adorable stars, smiling. Exhausted of tonights mental state, I closed my eyes, willing the vision away before opening them again. But as I looked into this girls face, I saw the stars had escaped my mind, as I watched them now shine brilliantly in this girls hair within the darkness, mocking me, tempting me under the purple and blue lights that occasionally jetted across the dark room, reflecting off of the silver confetti on the floor. It was a sign, and I was entranced. Her friend leaned in and shouted to me, "Dance with us?" I swayed, eyeing this girl and feeling a little sick. At my long pause they began laughing, pleading. Accepting my circumstance, I moved my lips upwards in a mimic of their smile and began to shuffle my feet back and forth in the same simple pattern they were doing. They laughed hysterically and the red headed girl took my hand. For a short few minutes, it was actually nice. I loosened up, began to move carelessly. Mentally, I felt myself relax just slightly, before the muscles in my stomach and legs began to occasionally spasm.  
I looked down and noticed I still held the glass from my first drink. Assuming the pain in my body was it simply demanding another drink in it's own way, I let go of my acquired friends hand. I gestured to the bar, to indicate where I was going and she nodded as they closed the circle. For a confusing moment while I walked, I imagined this girl contacting me after this event. My thoughts swirled in a unfamiliar dizzying nausea as I wondered what we would talk about, what she was like under fluorescent lighting. While it might be normal to ponder about the women we meet in bars, this was a strange thought for me to experience. I hadn't been able to consider the future at all in a really long time, even so short a time as the next day. With every time I woke up in the morning, I was genuinely surprised to find myself home and alive. I never planned to survive the day, every day. And this is how I existed. My train of thought spun on its track so violently that I continued to stumble through the dark, losing my way. Let’s be honest, I thought to myself as I imagined my head between her legs, in a different kind of dark later in the night. Instead of this blaring eighties music I would hear her, only her. Would it be any better? This girl most likely wasn't even interested; not that it mattered to begin with. I had no reason nor desire to do this again; with my complete inability to truly admire someone and obscure if not definite plans to end my life. As I pulled myself from my weighing thoughts, I realized that I had wandered right past the bar and past the bouncer with a group surrounding me, and we were descending the stairs at the entrance. My memory felt foggy, and I wondered how many drinks I had. Distantly I felt a hand gripping my bicep, basically completely holding me up as the old pop music continued to blare behind us and in my pounding mind. This felt, familiar. The sickness, the music, the circumstance. The doors fell shut loudly and the compared quiet made me shake my head clumsily, blinking. "Excuse me." I managed, and the people around me did not respond. I knew in the back of my mind they were talking, but I couldn’t bring myself to focus on it. To focus... my head screamed, loud and painful right in my forehead and I felt acidic vile come up my throat.  
I choked and leaned to spit, and as I stood back up my muscles jolted again and I nearly collapsed. What… the fuck?  
"Jesus Christ, will you fucking stand?” Someone’s voice scattered around me. It had to have been the person gripping my arm, pulling me. A wall of sober awareness finally hit me in its respective wave, and I finally recognized the feeling. This feeling I spent cold nights desperately wandering in, my mind's thought space obliterated by the pleasure of an intense high. Days spent only feeling the desperate need to come back down from the loss of reality. I ripped my arm away from the person, nearly knocking them over and tried to take a step back, falling against a brick wall. I forced my head up and it fell back against the brick to look at my company. White collar, red shirt. "Red shirt." I amusedly announced in a genius moment of vague memory. His friends weren't around us for some reason, although I felt like I had seen them seconds ago. Perhaps they were there, and I couldn’t see them? My mind taunted, attempting to frighten me. They definitely were there when they were shielding me from view of the bouncer during our great escape. I looked down at my dirty work apron, torn at the neck and now hanging at my waist. I did not recall that happening. I let my head roll down again, chuckling in terror and looking at my feet. Darkness swirled through my mind, but not in the way I was accustomed to, through disassociation or inebriation. It didn’t surround the subject in my vision, but entirely encased them, bringing me blindness, questions. Blinking, my vision spotted in slowly, but would fade away again. I knew the wave was about to end, the wave of consciousness and sobriety coming to its peak. I recognized this pattern.  
"Are you… serious?" Was all I could bring myself to ask, incredulous at the mans actions. The sound of something clinking against the wall brought my attention down to my hand, where I gripped my empty glass. Christ, did they pull me directly out of the crowd? "I… I was sober." I slurred in realization, blinking slowly and suddenly noticing his face was practically in mine. I pretended that I wasn't aware, that I was worse off than I appeared. I attempted to grip the glass tighter in my numb fingers as a familiar, tingling sensation settled in the deepest parts of my bones. My mind swirled with the horrible, dizzy aura. I nodded, accepting, whispering. "Yeah. I was sober." I felt his breath in my face as he chuckled. "No. You weren't."  
I jerked my hand upwards and smashed the glass against his head with all of my available strength, which wasn't much. I felt it crack in multiple places but not break and he went down like a sack of bricks, shouting and holding his head. The color red shot out of the duller colors of the street that vibrated within my vision. White collar, red shirt. Red head. Stumbling, I gripped the cup tighter. Its edges jutted from the exposed shards in the cup and now cut into me, deep, distracting me from my seizing muscles. "Yeah." I mumbled and kneeled beside him cursing on the ground. Fucking bitch, what the fuck, blah, blah, blah. A gift from the universe presented itself as my vision came back all at once as I slammed the jagged broken glass back down into his forehead, shattering it completely. What felt like every fold and crevice in my hand was immediately filled with glass as his forehead completely split open with a million glass shards. A million glass stars, everywhere.  
The blood exploded in every direction and I couldn’t tell you what was mine and what was his. My entire arm ached. The red of his shirt began sucking in the rest of the red, blending well, dancing, vanishing. Adrenaline tried to kick in through the haze of the drug and my breath grew labored, legs and arms shaking hard. I fell back against the wall on the ground, sitting in god knows what and I just panted, trying to stay calm. A few angry questions circled in my mind violently, repetitions of trauma perhaps. But I had never been drugged before, this I could not make sense of. Just... why? My head dropped again suddenly and I desperately tried to keep my upper body from slumping entirely against the wall. Why? The muscles in my neck felt as though I were a teenager again and had spent the night carelessly head banging to loud punk music, injuring myself. Why now, why me? My chin rested on my chest and I breathed deeply, trying not to hyperventilate but also trying not to relax anymore than I was. Why. The realization slowly rose in my mind, and I breathed deeply. To put it bluntly, I was a woman. This was something I often forgot and never considered. I had dated a few women throughout my life and they seemed so foreign, complicated and strange. I struggled to associate them with me in any capacity. In visions I saw myself as... well, not a woman I guess you would say.  
My eyes fell closed without my willing and the pounding in my head faded, exhaustion taking its place. I had to leave, before this fucking idiot woke up or died. I reached into my pocket and unlocked my phone, swiping the bloody pattern across the screen. Help, I needed help. Hesitantly, the red swaying finger paused over a name I hadn't contacted in over a year. Letting my opinions and absolutely anything else fade from my mind, I pressed the call button, slumping down the wall. At the sound of Jay's voice I attempted to force my eyes back open, but failed. "Steph." He shouted, through what sounded like a loud bar playing pop music. I heard him move through a crowd, before being in the quiet of night.  
"Jay." I mumbled. My thoughts were beginning to root away from me, in directions more inclined towards sleep. I was forgetting what I was doing. "Hello?" His voice echoed quietly, waking me a little. "Do you know… The Edge, like.. south. In town." The words came out of my mouth as though someone else were saying them, repeating after my inner dialogue. Jay spoke again. "Yeah, actually. I'm down here celebrating right now." The relief, pain and exhaustion flooded my mind all at once, overwhelming anything and everything I could say. "Steph? Are you here too?" Darkness surrounded me and I felt the distant panic. Hell, I didn’t know where I was. Something about that comforted me. Perhaps I would be lost to the darkness, and never wake up. Please. I felt myself laugh, my mouth forming words, before inevitably caving to the wave of venomous, euphoric pleasure and darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was difficult to write. Its difficult enough to talk about. Im going to keep trying though, start moving away from myself and more towards Steph as a character, make it a lot more fiction than it is. that would be healthy


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> calm before the storm.

Somehow, I could sense where I was before I opened my eyes. This was the natural clairvoyance that often comes in dreams when you are lucid. With my eyes closed, I stepped forward from the grass onto a path, and slowly squinted upwards. The sun was bright and warm, shining down into the glass windows of the Greenville county greenhouse, lovingly nicknamed "Edgar's" by the local community based on its owner. I let myself wander the stone path that I'd learned well, from the many times I met Jess at work. I stepped over the open doors threshold and beneath the flowing green canopy, my eyes searching. Many species of flora were organized neatly and placed identically together in their long rows, almost existing solely as a sight to hypnotize me. It was more perfect than I'd ever seen it in the waking world, and the obsessive parts of my mind quieted, allowing me to think more clearly. Predicting the dreams intentions, I spotted Jess standing nearby, holding a watering can. She gently touched the dirt within the clay pot, judging its moisture and I approached her. "Jess." I breathed, and she turned to me and smiled, holding out her hand. I noticed with a strange feeling the white paper concert bracelet still clung to her arm, slightly damp. All of this unsettled me a little; I didn't expect her to want to see me. Hell, I hadn't even seen her smile in months. She seemed to notice me hesitate and promptly closed the distance between us, taking my hand and pulling me into her arms. "Come here." She breathed into my hair, and I paused before allowing myself to hold her tighter. We pulled back and she looked over me, examining my dream form. "It's good to see you." I said quietly, watching her changing expression. The smile that quickly shot across her face was small and short, nearly painful. "I'm afraid I have to wake you, now." I freeze for a moment, anticipating either the dream to end or chaos to ensue. The characters in my dreams gaining sentience normally caused a loss of control on my end. When nothing happened, I took the chance to protest. "But I feel as though I've just fallen asleep." Jess hums and nods, trying to fix my matted hair. "Bad things often happen to sufferers that sneak a glimpse of peace." At this I thought of my sobriety, and I looked away from her, towards a wilted plant standing alone in the corner of the greenhouse, dead and forgotten.  
"You misunderstand, dear." Jess suddenly nuzzled her face near my ear, kissing softly. I didn't recall her ever being this affectionate, and overall I was unsettled, but calm. "This is the last time I'm going to see you like this." I silently watched her as she turned her gaze to the garden, her eyes moving somberly over the flourishing greenery surrounding us. "I've acted through these people you care about for a long, long time. The stage you choose for Jess is beautiful." I shake my head slowly, confused. "What do you mean? You aren't Jess?" Her dark brown eyes bore into mine, studying me. "You aren't ready yet, Steph. You aren't awake." I chuckled, letting go of her and pushing away. "Okay, then are we going to discuss this when I'm awake?" I asked sarcastically, instinctually looking down. Upon doing this though I realized I was still in my torn work uniform, covered in filth and blood and my own vomit. Vague, confusing memories began to fold into my dream memories and an intense, startled terror built deep in me, in my stomach. It hurts, and I feel the edges of the dream sharpen, darken. Coming to a rolling boil. The thing pretending to be Jess steps towards me. "Please, Steph. I can only control so much. Be calm. I need to warn you of something." Beginning to panic I look back up at Jess to see her brown eyes flood with shimmering gold, orbiting her pupils. "Something terrible is going to happen." She says painfully, quietly, and I instinctually feel the urge to comfort her although I feel like I know what she means. Of course I know.  
"I know." I whisper, and its nearly drowned out by the dreams transformation. As the gold entirely encompasses her eyes, the room begins to darken as her curls grow in volume around her face. I looked up at them, seeing a golden crown in the shape of a star glow above her head, nearly blinding me. When she spoke a final time, her voice seemed like many, speaking all at once and surrounded by distant bells, horrible smells, and I felt the thick texture of blood coat every inch of my skin.  
Don’t trust yourself. 

I sat up suddenly from unconsciousness, much too quickly and the sensation of my forehead smacking into a metal bar exploded throughout my brain in all of its hungover glory. I clenched my teeth as I collapsed back, lifting a hand to my head. Quietly someone spoke near me, bringing me more into a new reality. “Whoa, calm down. Are you okay?” I turned my head to the sound and carefully, almost unwillingly I opened my eyes to darkness. I looked around and blinked a few times in my blindness before my vision tunneled in, slowly, and I was looking at a ceiling. “Steph?” I heard again, and I forced myself to sit up again, carefully this time. Spots of black and dizziness altered my vision, but I looked up at James, standing beside my bed. I blinked a few times and croaked, my throat incredibly dry. “Jay.” He nodded anxiously, looking concerned. “Do you need help?” Thoughts that weren’t mine burst into laughter in my mind, cutting off my own inner questioning and echoing off of every painful surface, loud enough that I could nearly hear it in the room. Confusion fogged my mind as I rubbed my eyes.  
“I was drugged.” I said lamely, pushing my weight off of my bed and standing. Jay’s hand immediately reached out to gently grasp my small shoulder, steadying me. “Are you… sure? I mean, you were pretty fucked up last night, but with the state the house is in…” I watched him look down at the empty bottles beside my bed, and around the room. I scoffed, pushing him away a bit and wandered out of the room. Flashes of memory started rolling through my mind of the night before but I ignored them, focusing on the task of getting water. White collar, red head. Jess, not Jess. Entering the kitchen, I placed my palms on the counter for a moment and breathed. Jay was thankfully quiet while watching me, so I turned to look at him. “Thank you for… helping me.” I said carefully, trying to remember. He studied me with a serious look in his blue eyes. “You were.. quite frankly, in deep shit when I found you, Steph.” I nodded, squeezing my eyes shut. “Yeah. I am glad I called you.” Jay nodded and a section of his short brunette hair fell from an unnatural spot trapped by sleep. I looked down and unlike my weird dream, I noted that I was in clean pajamas. Understanding that he took me home and took care of me, I felt gratitude for these actions alike with the fact he had chosen not to sleep in my bed with me. Jay always understood boundaries to an absurd level when it came to the people he knew, understanding how far to take things with our small group of college friends ended up providing him with indefinite lengths of friendship. We had met in group therapy as students, and it had been around a year or perhaps longer since we had seen each other. I didn’t have plans to see him again. Hell, I hadn’t felt the need or desire to see anyone for months. But here we stood in my kitchen, in clothes he put me in, studying me closely as though we were sleeping together as young college students again. I allowed myself to relax and turned to remove two mugs from the cabinet. “So, where is your grandmother?” I pressed the small button on the coffee pot and turned to the fridge, removing a jug of water. “She passed a while back, not long after I last saw you.” I stated, pouring a little water into a mug. I methodically lifted the cup and swallowed the water, almost expecting the burn of liquor or bile to rise unexpectedly. Thankfully, it went smoothly. “I inherited the house.” I said, my voice sounding much cleaner and pronounced. Jay sighed, running a hand through his hair and sitting at the small table within the kitchen. “Damn, Steph. I'm sorry.” I nodded, accepting his condolences. He had met my grandmother only a few times, as she was my only living relative at the time. They both admired each other. Numbly, I poured some black coffee into each mug and took them to the table, sitting with Jay. He thanked me quietly and began sipping his beverage with a short grimace, watching me. I looked down at the table and rested my face in my hands, closing my eyes painfully. “Steph… Are you okay?” I thought about that tiredly, meaninglessly, before I exhaled, running my hands down my face. “No.” I almost chuckled, thinking about how gruesomely our reunion must have gone. If.. if any of that was real, anyway. Desperately, I tried to play everything off. “I mean how okay could you be, after a night like last night.” I meant to say it light heartedly, but it came out flat, dead. There was just nothing there, in my voice, in my mind… The emotion was just long gone. Jay put his mug down. “Yeah.. we have to talk about last night.” I let out a long sigh as he continued. “Steph, its… last night was really bad, but there's obviously more going on than just… that.” He pushed sincerely, and I shook my head distantly. I wasn't used to talking about this, and somehow even through my careless and violent actions I still didn’t expect to have to talk about the state I was in. “Does it matter.” I deadpanned, feeling an irritated burn build in my chest. I answered myself. “No, it fucking doesn't. Nothing matters.” Jay shifted uncomfortably and I stood, walking away from the table. I heard him stand behind me as he spoke after me. “Steph, please, this is insane. The drinking, this isolation thing you're doing, the…violence? Fuck, you could have killed that guy last night." The thought and memory of attacking that man suddenly lit me up, rushing adrenaline and fire through my arms and legs. I instinctually shook my hands as though they were burning and turned to him, looking up into his face. “What is your point, Jay? Please.” I pressed, the stress beginning to get to me. He sighed and looked into my eyes, very serious. “Are you hearing things again?” I moved back a step, thrown by his intimate question. I looked at him like he didn't know what he was asking as suspicion and paranoia flooded in, frightening me. Jay knew about my health, even if I didn’t want him to know. Episodes come and go without control, and it’s easy to lose yourself in them. Hell, when we met in group I did everything I could to prevent him from finding out. It isn't easy, though. My expression must have meant confirmation to him as he sighed and continued. “I think it’s time you get some help.” I shook my head immediately, naturally. I was fucking terrified of doctors, I always had been. Once they had you or even knew you were ill, the authority they had over you… that idea alone terrified me. My doctors over the years knew the bare minimum for me and it had to stay that way. Paranoia bled a thousand more scenarios and reasons to be afraid into every fiber of my being and I shook my head forcefully. “Steph, don’t panic. It’s okay. Listen to me.” I moved my eyes nearer to his face, resting at his collar bones and his voice was quieter. “I get it. Doctors have never been your favorite idea. When will you consider treatment?” I thought about that for a moment in silence. It had been nearly half a year, perhaps longer since this episode started. I let myself lean back against the counter, lost in thought. When I spoke, the words seemed to come from somewhere within me that I couldn’t reach, somewhere the words had been engraved in a definite, iron truth. “When it comes down to it, Jay, there’s nothing to treat. There isn’t a ‘getting better.’ This, is all I am now. This is all that life has been for a long time, and its unbearable. The only choice that I have, honestly, is to end my life. And even that isn’t a choice at this point, is it?” I never expected I would be saying this to someone, and as the words left my mouth I actually felt something new. Pain, in my chest, like something cold was squeezing my ribcage hard. The words didn’t want to leave my body. “What about the people that love you? Your coworkers, friends? Me?” Jay asked, and my stare didn’t break from his chest. “Before, when I thought I was depressed, that stopped me often. But that stuff just doesn’t… reach me, anymore. Nothing does.” I finally looked up at him, meeting his concerned expression. “I don’t think there’s anything that will stop me. Stop this.” I said flatly, honestly. Jay slowly shook his head. “Doesn't that frighten you?” I nodded, vaguely. “No. But I know that it will eventually.” Jay reached out and I looked down and watched his hand take mine, interlocking our fingers. “Steph, I’m afraid. I’m scared I'm going to say the wrong thing and I'm scared I'm not going to say enough. I’m… not going to force you to do anything you're uncomfortable with. But you are not well, and I’m not leaving you now.” He sighed, and his grip on my hand tightened. “Will you let me stay here and help you, as well as I can?” He continued. "We'll think of something. Maybe later we can get you to a hospital." My chest tightened at the scenarios, and I swallowed hard. “Any other options?” He sighed, loosening his grip and nearly letting go of my hand. “You force me out of your home, isolate yourself and then end your life before I can do anything. Successfully making yourself the most selfish bitch in existence.” I pondered this, letting the words sting in my throat. The silence was tense between us as I stared down at the floor, but it wasn’t what I was seeing. When Jay spoke again he sounded desperate, angry.  
“Steph, please. I’m offering you choices right now, you aren't bound to do just one thing, now there's options, please.” I didn't respond, panic circling my mind like a predator preparing to take me down and devour me. I glanced up at Jay, but the pain in his face was too much to process. I looked back down.  
“Okay.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> im sorry if this is confusing or hard to read, it was difficult to write when remembering some things that i based it from

It is inherently natural to rationalize fear. It has to be. We will fill books, nutrition labels and do-not-remove tags with lists behind our fears. You know the basics among the popular; heights, needles, clowns, spiders. While fear seems to work for everyone in the same methods, I wonder sometimes if these rationalizations are a conscious attempt to normalize experiencing fear. With a reason behind it, it is rationalized and you deserve to fear. There’s always a reason to experience fear. My dilemma here was most simply fear without reason. Intense paranoia. My refusal and terror of doctors diagnosing abstract mentality and my more severe episodes was purely hereditary. I occasionally wonder if I had been given names for my families scattered illnesses if I would apply them to myself. But I know better. Paranoia and anxiety were the top reasons doctors often branded to rationalize my fears, labeling them the roots of the chaos. It would be paranoia that brought me the meaningless things I had no reason to fear, but I feared regardless. Anxiety. Unfortunately, paranoia isn't simply a symptom. It is an entire way of life. It is not often I fear becoming paranoid, as I am a suspicious person by nature. Fear, without reason, cause, and foreseeable ending. It is maddening. It’s in tiers and it simmers and grows until the strange whispers are now the sounds of fire, the seconds waiting are moments something predatory is closing in on you and every breath is deep poison and you FEEL IT. Meaningless, fast, and chaotic. Terrifying, always. A healthier version of me would assume the stress of living like this for so long is surely what ends my life so early. The “me” that you know now is well aware that we both know, reader, that will not be the case.  
I spent almost every moment trying not to panic, trying to put my mind into a state that was prepared for the worst. But it wasn’t meant to be. Nothing had changed between now and before I was drugged, between new years and Jess. Between Jess and September. Getting better was never a part of the equation, there was no point in trying. Why, why was I allowing Jay to help me? I tried so desperately to put this decision on like it was anything else, any activity I was forced to do by life. Survive through it, do the deed later. But it wasn't working, something was just different. I knew Jay would call the hospital as soon as he was out of the room. So I didn’t leave him. With each room he moved to, I found myself pacing near him. No matter which path of pacing I took, how much scratching at the skin on my hands and nervous glancing at the windows I did, the panic built, and every car I heard outside was them coming to get me, all of the moving shadows were them watching me, documenting my descent, waiting for me to finally lose it so they could get me. I felt.. different, but I did not understand what changed. I paced for hours, watching everything around me from miles away inside my mind, round and round before I felt Jay's hand on my arm, stopping me. “Hey. I have to take care of something. I’ll be gone for a few hours. Will you be okay until I get back tonight?” The panic remained at full speed as I nodded distantly after a moment of audio processing, and didn’t bother to look all the way up at his face. “Yeah. I made it this long without you.” I felt him let go of my arm and I immediately wrapped my arms around myself. “Okay. I'll be back a little after eight. It’s only a few hours, be safe for me okay? We made a deal.” I nodded vaguely again and moved to sit on the couch. He stood in the door, watching me for a long moment before shutting it, leaving me alone once again.  
Almost immediately I stood up again and I heard the cynical laughs, the whispers of “putting up a front" and how useless it was when he would be bringing them to my door. My unsteady feet brought me back to my worn path beside the window, and I lost track of time in my mind. Don’t think about it, think about it. What if they make me go? How could I speak to anyone, in this state? I didn't have the words to explain what I was experiencing, what I experienced in general. I knew, deep within me that I was ill, but it was simply part of me. Somehow all of this was overshadowed by a looming sense of doom, edging closer and closer to my mind, my body. The curvature of reality pressed in on me, just above the roof of my house, threatening to crack. Killing myself is all I have left, and that’s about to be taken away from me. They're going to know. Someone is going to know. I could almost hear my father’s voice in my head, warning me. If you tell anyone, they will think you are mental. Once they know, they will control your entire life. You’ll lose your privileges. Eyes will always be on you. I gripped my hands tightly, scratching at the back of my hands, my fingers, anything to distract me before I glanced at the window nervously, looking for the shadows. By doing this I realized it was night, and I had spent hours agonizing in my paranoid panic. Shaking, I walked into the kitchen and instinctually grabbed a bottle of whiskey from the counter. “He doesn't know shit.” I said shakily, trying to convince everyone that my fathers words meant nothing and that Jay knew nothing. I examined the nearly empty bottle and nodded quickly, clearing my throat and speaking quietly. “He never told anyone about his issues. How the fuck would he know what they’ll do?” I tilted the bottle up and the moment the harsh liquid passed my lips, my stomach lurched and I choked, spitting it out. The thought that I was panicking before felt confusing as now terror consumed my mind in a way I wasn’t expecting and hadn’t experienced, down my throat and into my arms and chest, like a static. My breath came quicker and I dropped the bottle, turning to look around the room, catching the clock by the door. Eight. What do I do? I had to make a choice. Something wildly upset within me knew that I would not go willingly. They might spare me, that way. No. They will have to kill me. Leaning towards this part of me, I nearly unconsciously grabbed my pocket knife off of the coffee table and opened the front door, wandering into the dark. Was this my choice? My breath continued to come and go at a speed I could not control as I wandered the streets I had grown up walking, and I found myself existing solely within my head, understanding this world was the next dream. Although the night was very early it was still strangely difficult to see through the blueish darkness and I found my eyes searching for the only streetlight in the neighborhood, directly at the streets end.  
“Steph!”  
The panic overwhelmed me and I took off into a sprint, my chest pounding and breath increasing even further. Running off of the street, I took a detour through the trees and stopped once in the woods, now hyperventilating. My eyes stung as a knot built in my throat in fear. Who.. was that? It sounded like Jay, and it could have easily been, but..  
“Steph.”  
I jerked my head to my right, squinting through quickly forming tears into the darkness. Shaking hard now, my voice cracked as I shouted,  
“Get away from me.”  
“Steph. Look around you.”  
I stumbled forward, doing as the voice said, attempting to get through the short span of woods. I didn't remember them being this long, I thought to myself as I stumbled and fell. My hair caught in the sticks and brush as I crashed down on my front, panting hard. A sound I cannot describe approached me, like a large bird swooping down and breathing cold air onto my head. I violently turned to face the creature, but a bright flash of light shot across my vision and I threw up a hand to shield my eyes. As the white faded, I continued looking around, wildly confused and terrified. “What..” I quietly asked no one, everyone, but this time I got a response.  
“Get up. Run.”  
My fists clenched the dirt beneath me as I pushed myself up to stand, stumbling forward. I let the tears fall from my eyes freely now as I approached the clearing of the woods, onto a road further in the neighborhood. Where was I going? Who was leading me? Wiping at my face, I stumbled across the street, stopping at the streets edge. I paused for a moment, staring down into the dirt beside the road and swaying as I grew intensely dizzy. I felt as though I were standing still and the entire world was spinning around me, faster and faster.  
Steph.  
I turned too quickly again in time to see a person standing directly behind me, in dirty sweatpants and a hoodie. Before I could see their face they brought their hands up and shoved me at my shoulders, hard. I fell backwards into the ditch and rolled onto my front, trying to pick myself up. The tingling numbness around my face and arms suddenly felt dull compared to the stinging in my hands. I sat back on my knees as I looked at my hands, examining the few brown, glowing stars that had sliced into my palms. Red, red and brown. So many people had something to say about this as the whispering kicked up much louder than I had ever heard before. I wiped my face again and raised my head in delirium to see the shadows of figures standing around me, at the top of the hill and in the ditch with me. Only able to choke in breaths in a random pattern now, I felt someone kick me in the shoulder hard as I fell on my side, feeling the stars cut into me. Dazed, I felt my attacker roll me onto my back as they crawled into my lap, straddling me. I looked up into their face, trying to say something, anything, but I could barely breathe. Their face had dirt and blood smeared all over it, with fresh tears running down through it. The sticks and leaves in their hair was matted down and I choked as I thought for a moment, I recognized them. Panting, they reached into their front pocket and removed a pocket knife, and the whispering almost grew into a deafening static. I felt my lips move but I was frozen in terror, unable to move or speak. They opened the knife and sobbed violently once, before their breathing increased and they suddenly leaned down, pressing the blade into my throat. Through the numbness from lack of oxygen, I could only feel the pressure of their grip, and my eyes fluttered closed for a few seconds. I forced them open again to see them look into my eyes with a changing expression, slowly becoming a cruel grimace, before nodding and jerking the blade across my neck.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry its been a while. this is a pathetic excuse for journaling in the form of fanfiction.  
> steph wakes up.

It will never be warm again.

Subconsciously, I always expected to feel disgusting if I woke up. Clothes musty from dried rain, vomit or the excruciating smell of liquor at eight in the morning awaited. Its the punishment for surviving the night. All of the filth on me remained untouched for the sweet, sweet hours of death I traded for too many drinks. The best hours are those you’re unable to do anything, think anything, be anything. Those in which you could shake me, hit me and I wouldn’t stir; as it was my own sold temporary death from drinking myself into poisoning. And yet now, unlike all of those times, I opened my eyes without pain or difficulty to the sun shining behind large, grey clouds. 

It was quiet, but a sound echoed. Almost like a vaccuum. Slowly, I raised an injured hand over my eyes and squinted in the change of brightness, now seeing the broken glass still in my palm. Cause and effect. I sat up and looked around, realizing I was laying in a ditch below a road. Oh.. right.

Pushing myself to my feet, I climbed the small hill and stepped into the road, looking around. There was nothing for miles in every direction, except for the sound of a creaking swing directly across the road. After a moment of staring, I recognized the small children’s park as a place my mother took me often as a kid. Only one bench faced the park with a woman sitting in the center, watching a child lazily swing back and forth. Holding myself nearly unconsciously, I began to wander towards her, approaching from behind. I expected her to hear me as I clumsily stepped onto the small walkway of gravel behind the bench, but she didn’t turn. I leaned slightly as I came around the bench, speaking quietly. “Hello?”  
The woman jerked as though I had scared her from deep thought and she looked up at me, a hand near her chest as her own presence returned to her eyes. Blinking, my mouth remained slightly open as I recognized her. She chuckled and shook her head, reaching into her jacket pocket. “Don’t scare someone when they’re somewhere else Steph, you know better than that.” I rubbed my neck, turning a little red and looking down. “I'm sorry, I always manage to do it anyway.” I heard her lighter flick as she re-lit an old, burned down cigarette, looking up at the child on the swing. Watching her gaze, her eyes started to glaze over as she spoke quietly to me. “Come sit with me.” Naturally, I took a deep breath and walked around her, obeying. The silence between us was comfortable for a few minutes as we watched the little girl on the swings, entranced with her feet as she spun in circles, twisting the rusty chains. “Why are you here, mom?” I asked her, genuinely curious. She exhaled, going to light a new cigarette immediately and avoiding looking at me.  
“Your father.” I nodded, watching the little girl let herself fall out of the swing and lay on the ground boredly, staring at the sky.  
“What about you Steph?” My mom asked, turning to examine me closely. “Probably just passed out somewhere." I lied quietly, shrugging. My mom scoffed and turned back, taking a drag. “I don't think Godwin would allow something of this magnitude if you were just asleep Steph.” She took another drag silently, before continuing. “You finally end up overdoing it?” Beginning to disassociate, I questioned her quietly. “What do you mean?” She laughed, and it felt so warm and nostalgic, such a rare and wonderful sound that I thought I had forgotten. “People don't often visit the dead when they're sleeping, Steph.” I wrapped my arms around myself again, suddenly feeling a lot colder despite sitting under the eyes of the sun. Mom shook her head, standing up.  
“I hope she comes for you, sweetheart. It would be horrible if you died the way my father did.” I stared at her in silence, afraid and confused. “In what way...?” She moved her eyes away from me as she began to walk away, towards her playing daughter. “Alone, drunk. Obeying voices. Believing it was the words of god.” I stood suddenly as the distance grew between us, ignoring the sound of gravel crunching softly behind me. “Mom?”  
She turned, the gray only roots in her long blonde hair. She was too young. My throat seized up as I held my breath, afraid I would choke. “I love you.”  
She smiled, nodding as she turned back to the child, holding out a hand and calling my name softly. The little girl ran to her and grabbed it, walking away with her down the gravel path, leading into nowhere. My breath came suddenly as I sucked it in, trying not to hiccup before a voice whispered quietly behind me.  
All comes from me. I will bring you shelter.  
Steph. Become aware.  
I didn’t realize how truly disconnected I was until two small hands rested powerfully down onto my shoulders. I suddenly felt too conscious of my body as it was horrifically grounded onto the earth, deep and solidly. Being alive, living is something I remember, and I didn’t fight it as it breathed through me again. 

-

Slowly, I opened my eyes to Jay’s sleeping face, resting solidly on my chest. The tv was playing some talk show as voices scattered the room, but…from that source, the tv. It felt…slowed, everything did. As awareness reached me, I realized I couldn’t remember how to.. think. I cleared my throat, feeling my eyes dart around beneath my eyelids in a strange way, uncontrollably but physically familiar. The uncomfortable feeling made me force them open again, and I looked down to Jay’s sleeping form. He looked so tired. Dark circles surrounded his eyes and his face looked unhealthy, stressed. A small noise escaped my throat in distress and he stirred, looking up at me through heavy eyes. Sighing, he wrapped his arms around me and pulled me closer to him, squeezing me a little. It was familiar and nice for a short moment before another small noise was subconsciously squeezed out of me as he woke up. He looked up at me again, his eyes half lidded and confused. “Steph?”  
“..Jay.” His name felt so heavy.  
He didn’t break eye contact with me for a moment as his eyes opened fully, and then he suddenly sat up. “Steph, how old are you?”  
My brain felt like static as it fuzzed through his question. I looked at him strangely before realizing I had to think, concentrate.  
“I'm…twenty three..”  
Jays expression slowly morphed from worry to shock before he grabbed me again and held me tightly, crushing my face into his neck. “Jay..” I mumbled against him disoriented, before he chuckled quietly and emotionally into my hair. Pulling himself back, he looked at me for a moment, as though he were trying to discern something.  
“How are you? What can you tell me?” His expression was vague and hard while I sighed, feeling the weird eye darting thing starting up again. I let my eyes fall shut and tried to relax, feeling micro muscles in my jaw and neck jerking in random patterns. Without opening my eyes, I spoke dejectedly. “Feel this muscle moving thing. Eyes moving around.” I heard Jay sigh before I opened my eyes again, slowly. “I’m sorry. That was happening with the last medication too. I didn’t notice it this time. I’ll make sure your doctor knows.” Jay stood up and grabbed his pants from the floor, pulling them on. As he picked up his phone from the bedside table I tried to control the growing confusion and worry and I quietly groaned, feeling my head spin. I searched quietly in my mind for anything: answers, thoughts, memories, emotions. Jay spoke quietly on the phone with someone as I realized that during his entire conversation, I had stayed unmoving and my mind completely empty. I listened…and I heard nothing. I felt inside my body, but I thought…nothing. “Steph?”  
I turned my head to Jay and looked into his face. He looked a little taken aback at the direct eye contact, but nothing surrounded him, nothing dragged my eyes to the floor and no one spoke about him. Everything just felt so…wrong. Disoriented, I asked, “Is this real?” His tired, surprised expression seemed to fall for only a second before he said, “Do you think you feel up to talking to doctor Madison? He wants to speak with you.”  
I knew normally my mind would be overwhelmed with the confusion of what was going on, but in this moment I just felt nothing. In the minute it took for Jay to ask me his question and him to hand me the phone, I sat unmoving and managed to think, who is…?  
“Hello, Stephen. Are you there?”  
As I processed this, I felt Jay’s sunken eyes watching me. Wrong. I nodded, before remembering to speak and forcing the word out of my dry mouth. “Here.”  
“Good. Do you understand where you are?” I sat in silence, staring down at my hand. I waited for the ghostly movement happening in my face to subside for a moment before speaking. “I’m in my room.”  
His voice was devoid of emotion in a familiar way. He responded immediately. “That’s good. Do you have any physical pain? Troubling thoughts?”  
I tried to sense my body, and feel. It seemed the longer I was awake, the more I felt in a dream. “No, I…I don’t think I do.”  
“That’s good. Are you currently hearing any voices telling you to harm yourself or anyone else?”  
Distantly, under a blanket or two of fog, I felt the panic. It was so dulled down, I nearly didn’t recognize it, but the moment it was there I clung to it. “I…don’t understand what’s happening.” Doctor Madison continued, unbothered. “Just try yes or no, in this moment are you hearing or seeing things that aren’t there?”  
Disturbed, I tried to think of something to say, anything. It almost felt cruel, asking me if I was experiencing something that was so obviously absent. I felt wrong in this new reality; everything was quiet and still and wrong. My emotions didn’t bleed in, the energy didn’t sit right in the air. I moved the phone away from my face and dropped it onto the bed, hanging up on him. When Jay began questioning me it felt like a wave overtaking me.  
“Why did you do that? Weren't you talking to him?”  
I stood suddenly from my bed and swayed as dizziness tried to claim me. Jay reached out to grab me and I jerked my hand down, smacking his hand away. My frustration was obvious in my voice. “That man asked me- he asked if I was hearing things. Why does he need to know that? What is going on?” Jay exhaled slowly and came to my side, putting his hands on my shoulders. My palms immediately went to his chest as I pushed him backwards, and he removed his grip. When I turned again, my balance wavered and I nearly fell, catching myself on the window sill. Why did I feel like I had absolutely no balance? Being up and moving around disoriented me. In my head was this intense pressure, holding on tight inside my skull. I looked down at my hand gripping the window and my eyes followed a foreign scar in the crease between my thumb and pointer finger. I slowly turned my palm up as my eyes followed it; the still fresh, red scar reached almost halfway into my palm. I closed my eyes and tried to imagine the last thing I gripped, before I saw visions of a cup of water, a wrinkled shirt, a foreign toothbrush, Jay’s hands gripping mine. I turned to him, not looking directly at him because I didn’t know exactly what expression I must’ve had. “I've…its been a while, hasn't it?” I watched Jay’s head nod in my periphery as I reached for my neck slowly, letting my fingers trace a strange textured line across the base of my throat. That person, with the knife… Without thinking, I spoke, the words almost broken. “I was attacked.”  
Jay approached me slowly, worry flooding his voice. “Steph, it was done by your knife, it was in your- hand, when they found you..” I remembered the name my mother said in the dream, and I repeated it out loud. “Godwin.” Jay finally reached me, gently taking me hand and leading me back to the bed. As he sat me down, he spoke quietly.  
“Please, Steph. Tell me everything you remember.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thinking of doing some small seperate side stories about steph from third person, to journal out more bad shit that wont leave me alone


End file.
